


Science Knows No Bounds

by Drifter (lightworlddrifter)



Series: Human Smeets [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alien/Human Hybrids, Alien/Human Relationships, Asexual Romance, Bullshit Pseudo Science, F/M, Other, this was supposed to be a oneshot but then it ran away with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightworlddrifter/pseuds/Drifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Membrane finds a space ship crashed in his back yard. He is not prepared for how much this will change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Accidentally in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on ff.net.
> 
> I just got really inspired by the throw away jokes about Gaz having a squeedly-spooch and Dib's arm control nerve and it just ran away from me and spiraled out of control. 
> 
> There will probably be other fics in this same AU, but this is the only one planned to focus on Prof. Membrane.

You never fell in love. You didn't  _need_  love. You were a scientist. And that was all you needed. Science.

At the age of 30 you realized that even you wouldn't be around forever. Several hundred years, maybe, if your private,  _never reveal to the public_  experiments were anything to go by, but not forever, no. What you needed, was an heir. A son, with which to share all your interests. You couldn't just pull a woman off the street to provide you with that- no, the masses were, in your scientific opinion, too disgusting.

An even mix of genetics would probably irreversibly corrupt any heir you could hope to have, male or otherwise. There really was only one solution, you knew this, and with it in mind you headed down to your lab to make your greatest creation so far.

He would be smarter than you, with the hopes that he would one day surpass your genius. You would raise him to admire you, however, so that he would only really shine after you were gone. Yes, your almost clone would be the perfect son. He was just an idea, and already you loved him.

You ran into some trouble when you began recombining your own DNA for the child. Your genes weren't stabilizing in such a way that the child would still function properly, while not being your exact clone. Reluctantly, you decided to put the project on hold until you could find another human whose genetics would be capable of stabilizing your heir without corrupting his intelligence.

In the meantime, you developed the gestation tube your heir would be born in. You built it in your private lab, and created the necessary monitoring equipment and artificial embryonic fluids a child would need to survive. It sat in the back of your lab, collecting dust for two years while you searched for a genetic donor who wasn't completely horrible.

During that time you were content, if lonely. In your free time you spent countless hours searching genetic profiles, only to find none that would stabilize your son to be without compromising your own genetic structure. One night, after another several hours spent evaluating and rejecting a fresh list of candidates, you became tempted to just concede defeat and produce an exact clone. Those thoughts were interrupted when you heard a loud crashing sound outside. You swore. If that's one of those  _damn_  news choppers  _again_  you are going to make  _sure_  that the world has  _no_  scientific breakthroughs for a  _full year._

It was not a news chopper. Instead, it was a small scrap of maroon metal. Had you seen it  _before_  it crashed in your yard, you may have hazarded to call it a ship. But it was in no condition to be dubbed that now.

You approached the smoking chunk. You haven't felt the pull of scientific inquiry this strong since you first started working on developing an heir.

In the middle of the wreckage was a creature. It was curled in around itself, and wearing what appeared to be a strange armored dress. You thought it was dead. Until it groaned. You made a split second decision, and climbed down into the crater to take the creature inside. The last thing you wanted was for any prying eyes to catch a glimpse of this. Though the paparazzi had been scarce ever since you installed the laser security canons, you still could never be too careful.

The creature wasn't nearly as heavy as you expected. Its dress felt like metal and looked like metal but was lighter than you could have anticipated. It had a willowy torso that looked too thin to contain anything, and its skin was green, with antenna that drooped and curled off the top of its bald scalp. You felt a whirring coming from some sort of machine on its back. You hoped that meant that it was still alive.

When you reached the back door, you punched in a code on a number pad to the side. Two of your state of the art lawn drones appeared from a panel in the side of the house. You ordered them to repair the yard and stash the scrap metal in the lab for analysis later. You entered the house, confident that the backyard would be good as new in the morning.

You carried the creature down to the basement lab, and laid it on a table in the middle of the room. You weren't sure what to do next. While you were contemplating your next course of action, the creature on the table cracked open its eyes.

They were purple, like its armor. No, it was probably more accurate to say violet. A sharp, bright violet. For the first time you noticed it had curled lashes. It opened its mouth, and to your surprise, spoke.

"If you're going to kill me," its voice was low, but distinctly female, "you may as well do it now."

You were startled by its bluntness. Her bluntness? You didn't want to assume. "Nonsense," you tell her with your best PROFESSIONAL SCIENTIST voice. You don't let your surprise at her speaking English show.

She narrowed one eye, and opened the other wide, giving the effect of a raised eyebrow (though she had none to raise). "You speak Irken?" she asked you, her tone close to a bored curiosity. "I wasn't aware the empire made it out this far. I guess spending twenty years trying to claw yourself out of an infinite energy absorbing blob puts you out of the loop a little bit." The last part was muttered, and you weren't sure you were even supposed to hear it, so you didn't comment.

You tell her you don't know what language Irken is. "I'm speaking English," you told her. "Perhaps there is some sort of universal root language between your Irken and my English," you speculated out loud.

"Perhaps," she echoed quietly. She hadn't moved from her position laying down on the table.

You sat in silence, watching her stare idly at the ceiling. After about five minutes, you spoke up. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" you cautiously asked.

She merely sighed. "Not really. The empire believes me dead, and if what you say about never having heard of the Irken Empire is true, then they probably won't be in this part of the galaxy for a long, long time."

You hummed thoughtfully at her words. "You know, I happen to be a man of science," you informed her. "Perhaps I could be of some assistance helping you return to," you waved your hand, at a loss for how to continue, "Wherever it is you come from."

She smirked at that, and sat up on the table. You noticed that there was no longer an audible whirring coming from the device on her back. "You probably won't succeed," she said, "but it would be an honor to watch you fail."

You returned her challenging smile, even though you knew she couldn't see it from behind your tall lab coat collar. "I'll keep that in mind," you told her.

She stood up off the table, and began to look around the lab. She paused at the gestation chamber you built and ran a single claw carefully over the glass surface. "So let's say you do succeed," she began. You watched her as she turned to you, eyes narrow, though not in malice or suspicion. "What do you want in return?"

"The opportunity to work on such a project is reward enough." You insisted. And it truly was. Reverse engineering technology was an exciting opportunity. It was a welcome break from the tireless search for compatible genetics for your son.

"Tell me, is this your current project?" she asked, running a claw through the dust that had settled on top of the chamber. "If the buildup of filth is evidence of your progress on other projects, I feel as though I will be staying here a while."

You coughed into your fist. "That project's been on hold," you informed her. "I simply haven't been able to find a suitable genetic donor to continue it." You would never mention it to anyone, but you were actually slightly ashamed that you hadn't finished that particular project just yet.

"Genetics?" she said, her curled antenna perking up a bit. "This machine here is a hatchery?"

You didn't acknowledge her calling the gestation chamber a 'hatchery.' It was probably a result of the difference in species. "Well, yes," you replied before explaining, "I needed an heir for my SCIENTIFIC corporation. I simply haven't found a viable genetic combination that doesn't result in my exact duplicate."

She smirked, her eyes lighting up in understanding. She stalked over to you with a predatory grace. "Allow me to make you a deal," she began. "I help you develop your smeet," at this she waved a hand in the direction of the gestation chamber, "and in exchange you provide me with sustenance, shelter, and access to your labs."

You weren't sure what a smeet was, but from the context of the conversation you assumed she meant child. You wanted to accept her offer, but you knew you couldn't without a little more information. "And how do you plan to do that?" you asked.

She laughed slightly before responding. "Irken genetics are highly compatible with multiple species throughout the galaxy. It's how we routinely improve our race. And much like you, I too am- rather,  _was_  a scientist among my people." She held out her hand. You shook it. The agreement was made.

After that, you showed her upstairs, and gave her a tour of the main house, starting with the kitchen. "The water is purified," you told her as you gestured to the taps, "but be wary of the rain. The rest of the people on this planet are idiots who don't know how to control their pollution. I'm fairly certain contact with it is what lead to the wide spread stupidity in the population." It was true, the rainwater was absolutely filthy. The contamination was what made you reject most of the previous genetic donor candidates.

"I'm afraid I don't know what your kind eats," you told her as you showed her the fridge. She opened it and peered inside it cautiously, before she straightened up and answered you.

"Carbohydrates, mostly. Simple sugars, trans and saturated fats are also good."

You filed the information away for the next time you went grocery shopping. It seemed like you would be stocking up on junk food for the duration of your guest's stay.

Which reminded you- "I never did catch your name," you mentioned. "I'm Professor Membrane," you supplied, holding out your hand for her to shake, mirroring her earlier actions in the lab.

"Tallest Miyuki," she replied as she cautiously took your hand with her two-clawed one and shook it up and down twice. "Tell me, is there a private quarters?" she asked you once she let go of your hand. "My kind normally do not require sleep, however this evening has been particularly…" She waved her two clawed hand as she trailed off.

"Eventful?" you ventured, raising one of your eyebrows above your goggles.

"Yes," was her simple reply.

"I will show you where the guest room is," you announced with your usual flourish.

You showed her to one of the rooms on the second floor, the one next to the bathroom. You opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. "Goodnight, Tallest Miyuki," you told her as she went to close the door.

She paused, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I suppose it wasn't the worst one I've ever had, Professor Membrane." With that, she closed the door, and left you standing awkwardly in the hallway.

The next morning you came downstairs for your morning coffee and toast, and found Tallest Miyuki situated at the table, munching on pre-packaged muffins from the pantry.

"Tallest Miyuki," you said by way of greeting.

"Professor Membrane," she replied with a nod.

You poured your coffee and made some toast while Tallest Miyuki continued to snack on the little pastries. They were high in fat and sugar. That was probably why she ate them. You weren't even sure why you had bought the muffins in the first place, but you were glad you did.

"I had the parts of your ship moved down into the lab while you were asleep," you informed her. "Would you care to join me downstairs in a bit?"

Her antenna twitched up ever so slightly at your question. You almost didn't notice. "If you don't mind," she said in between mouthfuls of muffin, "I would like to begin work on the smeet."

"If that's what you want to do then I don't mind," you told her as you consumed your own breakfast.

When you were both done eating, you and Tallest Miyuki made your way downstairs to the basement labs. "So tell me, how do you know so much about the artificial incubation of-" you paused, trying to remember the word she used.

"Smeets?" she supplied.

"Yes, that's the one!"

She smiled at your enthusiasm and moved ahead of you, over to the gestation chamber. It was a smooth, knowing smile. One might even call it soft. "Before I began my training as an Irken Elite," she began, "I worked as a technician in the hatching facility. Even after I began my reign as Tallest, I would often visit the smeeteries and share stories of our noble history with the hatchlings." When you reached the gestation chamber after her, the two of you began an elegant dance, reaching over and around each other to gather beakers and supplies. "My kind is programed with our history from activation," she continued, "However it's one thing to know something and another entirely to learn it from the source."

She wore an amused smirk as the two of you organized the beakers and dishes you would need to begin the process. "I'm actually surprised," she said as she followed your example in providing a tissue sample for a petri dish, "I didn't know any other species manufactured their young like Irkens did."

"We don't," you told her.

Her delicately curled antennae perked up at this. "Oh?"

"Most human children are born biologically after a gestation period inside a human female," you explained.

"The why the hatching chamber?" she asked.

You cleared your throat and passed her a swab to get cheek cells with. "The people on this planet are idiots. I do not want them contaminating my heir."

She handed you back the swab after running it along the inside of her mouth, which you placed in a fluid filled test tube and capped before handing it back to her along with a test tube containing your own DNA sample. "Why not just create a direct clone then? You clearly have the technology." She took the tubes and placed them in a centrifuge.

"I want him to be better than me," you explained. "Not just a replacement." She nodded in understanding.

"If the smeet is to be identifiable as your," she lazily waved a hand in the air, " _human heir_ ," she continued, "then it must appear to be human as much as possible, correct?"

"Yes, that would be ideal," you replied. "Perhaps it would be beneficial to discuss the internal similarities and differences in our species while we wait for the DNA extraction to be completed."

The next several hours consisted of a Q and A session between you and Tallest Miyuki about the differences and similarities between your internal structures.

You learned that you both had veins, nerves, bones, and muscles, though the Irken equivalents were much sturdier and could take more damage.

"We don't have a central spinal cord," Tallest Miyuki explained after you finished telling her about the human nerve structure. "Our nerves are more localized. There's a separate arm and leg control nerves, which prevents paralysis should the spine be irreparably damaged."

Tallest Miyuki explained the squeedly-spooch, a singular super organ protected by a layer of goo.

You explained how human organs existed independently of each other, and while they could be replaced, if one ceased functioning then it was very likely they human could die.

"The Irken brain," Tallest Miyuki told you, "only exists to facilitate data processing in the PAK."

"What is a PAK?" you asked her.

She gestured to the machine on her back. "Mine is a bit different from the common Irken PAK, but it serves the same purpose and functions. The PAK contains our history, personality, name, and rank. It also controls hormone levels, and accelerates repairs."

You both decided that the Irken nervous system, muscles, and bones would be the most beneficial to the artificial child. You and Tallest Miyuki worked to ensure he was PAK independent, as not only were you lacking the technology to replicate it, it would also be harder to disguise while he was attending school. His nervous system and brain would be able to accommodate it, though unlike Irken smeets it would not be required for his survival. To achieve this, certain parts of the Irken neural structure were incorporated into the DNA sequence the two of you constructed, with the predicted side effect of a larger cranial structure.

After several weeks of working, the two of you finally combined your DNA to incorporate only the parts that you needed. During the evenings, while you slept, Tallest Miyuki worked on modifying the gestation chamber to accommodate the minor biological changes in the child. He would need more sugars and fats than the average human, especially during fetal development.

He gestated in the tube in your lab for about 12 months. During that time you and Tallest Miyuki fell into a routine. In the mornings, you would share breakfast, before heading down to the lab where you would observe the fetal development of the child, and take notes on its process.

Meanwhile, Tallest Miyuki would work on other projects, such as recreating the Irken operating system using Earth technology. You would both eat lunch in the lab, and share dinner upstairs before you retired to bed. Once a week, Tallest Miyuki slept, but the rest of the time she would either continue work in the lab or watch TV until you woke up the next morning.

From time to time, you wondered if this was what married life was like. It probably wasn't.

Had you planned on making your and Tallest Miyuki's artificial child experiment public, it would have provided revolutionary insights on the how the human developmental process changed to accommodate foreign DNA sequences.

But no, this project was being kept secret for a reason. For one, you already had enough religious zealots heckling you about playing god as it is, and you really didn't want to fuel that fire. And another, you and Tallest Miyuki both agreed that you didn't want the child to know. He would grow up thinking he was a normal, if resilient and above average intelligence, human child. And so would everyone else.

When he was born he was already much farther ahead than other human babies. You knew it was because of the combination of Tallest Miyuki's DNA and his longer gestation cycle. The public knew it was because an anonymous woman you had a one night stand with dropped him off on your doorstep when he was three months old. The public didn't think you were even capable of one night stands, but they shrugged it off with an "I guess everyone's capable of human fallacy- even the Professor."

You let them believe that. You and Tallest Miyuki agreed that it was best for the public to never know of her existence. Additionally, if they felt you had faults, even just one, it would keep them from turning on you, for whatever reason.

You named your son Dib, though you rarely called him that. Usually it was just 'Son,' and, occasionally, when he did something brilliant, 'My wonderful genius son.'

Tallest Miyuki generally referred to Dib as 'the Dib-smeet,' though occasionally, when she thought you weren't around to hear her, she would affectionately refer to him as 'Shortest Dib' or 'My Smallest.'

One evening, after a long day spent in the lab working on the hull of Tallest Miyuki's ship, you saw her sitting on the couch while helping Dib stand. He clung to one of the claws on each of her hands and tried to balance on his tiny human feet.

She didn't notice you lurking in the hall as she crooned in her usual soft voice. "You are very short, Dib-smeet. Shorter than Zim. No Irken ever hatched will be as short as you, Shortest Dib." She hoisted him into her lap, where he continued standing, clinging to her raised arms and struggling to find footing on her bony Irken knees. "Grow tall, My Smallest."

You continued quietly to your room, hoping she didn't realize you were eavesdropping on their intimate moment.

By Dib's first birthday he was already speaking full sentences. No one thought this was odd. He is  _your_  son after all, and you hardly leave the house anyway, so what does it matter. You did more projects in your home lab to keep close to him. He likes space, and cereal, and you are very proud.

Miyuki would often tell the toddler stories of her life on Irk, wars won, and planets conquered. Dib would always listen with rapt attention. You were glad for this, as it gave you more time to work in the lab without worrying about neglecting your only son.

One night, after Dib had gone to bed, you asked Miyuki if she was sure she was ok with spending so much time with Dib. She said that she didn't mind at all- she spent more time than she would care to admit in the smeeteries on Irk during her reign as Tallest, telling them the same stories she told Dib. "If the Dib-smeet is to have my DNA," she explained, "Then he is to know the history of my empire." You couldn't find a fault in her logic.

You weren't really sure when Tallest Miyuki had become just 'Miyuki.' If you had to guess, it was probably around the same time you went from 'Professor Membrane' to just 'Membrane.' That had certainly been an odd day.

Miyuki had stormed into your lab and loudly exclaimed, "MEMBRANE!" You were so startled that you had dropped the welder's torch you were using to repair her ship.

"Tallest Miyuki? Is everything alright?" She looked visibly flustered, her curled antenna flat against her head, and you could hear her PAK loudly whirring, possibly in an attempt to calm her down.

"Something is wrong with Dib-smeet," she said, her voice only holding a hint of worry. Anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed. You were not anyone else. You were PROFESSOR MEMBRANE.

You followed her upstairs, and to the stairs leading to the second floor. When you got there, you saw Dib, sniffling, his small knees scuffed and pinkish-red. Miyuki hovered over him, not sure what to do.

"He tripped, and started leaking," she explained. "I knew human skin was fragile, but I don't recall you mentioning leaking from his olfactory system during our discussions on human physiology." You would have laughed had she not sounded so genuinely flustered.

You calmly walked over and scooped Dib into your arms. It was one of the few times you held the boy. You brought him downstairs to the kitchen to administer first aid to his scraped knees, and explained to Miyuki how the human sinuses worked. She visibly relaxed after that, her antennae perking back up from where the were plastered against her skull in worry.

You and Miyuki easily incorporated Dib into your routine. Rather than work in the lab alongside you, she would protect and train Dib while you toiled away downstairs. During your breaks, you would often find her quizzing Dib on the names of different star systems, and teaching him how to operate Irken technology. After Dib went to bed, she would join you downstairs, and would often continue her own pet projects after you retired for the evening. It wasn't uncommon for you to return to the lab in the mornings to find something you had started on the night before finished, or improved upon in a subtle show of affection.

"He may be too weak for combat," she had told you one evening, while you were both down in the lab, working on her ship, "but that doesn't mean he can't be trained into a decent strategist or technician." You learned that the Irken valued productivity, and felt proud that she saw enough potential in your son to teach him, even if it was just another way for her to occupy her time.

Every morning, Miyuki and Dib would eat the sugariest cereal on the market, while you drank your morning coffee and enjoyed a slice of toast. At around noon you would take a break, and join Miyuki and Dib upstairs for lunch, mostly to make sure that Dib ate something a little more substantial than the Irken diet of sugars and fats. It wasn't so much of a problem after you explained human nutrition to Miyuki during one of your nightly lab chats. Though the Irken diet wasn't bad for him, he still needed balanced meals to maintain the health of the human portion of his body.

The first time Dib had refused to eat his vegetables after that conversation, Miyuki told him that if he didn't eat right then he would never grow up strong, and he would always be a filthy worm-baby. Dib whined that he didn't want to be a worm-baby, and never complained after that.

Dinner was always around seven, and an hour after that Miyuki would usher Dib off to bed before rejoining you in the lab.

Yet again you found yourself wondering if this was what married life was like for other people. You decided that if it wasn't, then you didn't want anything to do with it.

About three months after Dib's first birthday, you had finally finished repairing the outside hull of Miyuki's ship. Out of nowhere, during a long silence in your nightly chats, Miyuki said, "I want another one."

You paused in your work, setting down the wrench you were using to tighten the bolts on the outer hull. "Another one what," you asked.

"Another smeet," she replied resolutely. "Another human smeet, like Dib, but stronger."

"Alright," you said. You didn't realize it at the time, but you would have given Miyuki the moon had she asked for it. "If you don't mind my asking, why?"

She looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. "The Dib-smeet is smart, but weak. He is agile, but he would never survive serious combat," she explained. "He needs a clutchmate who is strong. She will keep him grounded." She turned to face you, sliding off the counter she had been perched on. "Leave the ship. We begin tonight."

One thing you had learned about Miyuki early on was that when she set her mind on something, she didn't stop until it was complete. You pulled out the old incubation equipment you used to make Dib and set it up in a corner of the lab. A year ago, if someone had told you that you would be using this equipment again to make a daughter, you would have called them crazy. Miyuki changed you, somehow.

"If she is to stay with the Dib-smeet, she cannot appear Irken," she said after you and she pulled out your old DNA samples from nearly two years ago. "But if she is to be strong, she cannot be as human as he is."

You nodded thoughtfully. "The most logical solution would be to create a true hybrid clone," you decided.

"Indeed," Miyuki agreed. "She will be weaker than any Irken, which is unfortunate, but strong enough to keep the Dib-smeet's large head from too much danger."

The two of you stayed up all night to find yet another viable way to combine your species's DNA. Eventually you found a winning combination, which would produce a child who was visibly human, but internally Irken. It was a much easier process than creating Dib's DNA, as you didn't have to balance human and Irken traits as carefully due to her posession of a squeedly-spooch. The only human organ she would retain was her brain. It would have fewer Irken neural passages than Dib, which would only serve to help maintain squeedly-spooch functionality.

She gestated much quicker than Dib due to her more Irken physiology, and in six months time you introduced Dib to his baby sister, Gaz. "Will she get tall, like you Mom?" he asked.

"We can only hope," she replied. "Though she won't be as short as you, Shortest Dib." He grumbled half heartedly at that, but smiled all the same. You realized for the first time that Dib had taken to calling Miyuki 'Mom.' You did not question it.

You and Miyuki decided to convert her room into Gaz's room, and during the few nights Miyuki needed to sleep, she would simply do it in your room. You had been living together long enough for this to not be strange. Every Sunday, while Gaz slept peacefully in her crib and Dib in his bed, Miyuki would join you in yours. She would sleep on her stomach, or side, and you could hear her PAK whirring quietly as it worked to restore Miyuki. You found yourself looking forward to Sunday night the most, even if it meant you could no longer sleep in the center of the bed.

On Dib's second birthday, you and Miyuki work to develop a method of helping Dib and Gaz gain an immunity to the pollutants in the rain water. You both are aware that you cannot shelter them forever. You created an additive, which Miyuki agreed to slip into the children's breakfast, that would prevent the toxic rain from affecting them too adversely until their bodies developed enough antibodies to combat the toxins on their own.

As soon as Gaz could walk, Miyuki began to teach her Irken battle techniques, while Dib studied the star systems and technology of conquered planets that Miyuki had uploaded onto the laptop she created for him.

"The Gaz-smeet is developing well," she had told you one Sunday evening as she climbed next to you into bed. For the first time she laid on her side facing you instead of away. "She will keep him safe from all except herself, and his own stupidity."

"Stupidity?" you questioned. She had said it with no malice, but it was still the first time she mentioned it.

"He is rash, and doesn't always think," she explained, a fond smile on her tired face. "Very similar to a young recruit I knew back home, though not nearly as narcissistic."

Gaz is 2 and Dib is 4 when Miyuki unexpectedly entered your lab in the middle of the morning. It was only 10o'clock, usually she was with the smee-  _children_  upstairs. Gaz had developed a fondness for simulators and video games, which she played while Miyuki quizzed Dib on viable tactical strategies in certain situations.

"Is everything alright, Miyuki?" you had asked, setting down the tablet you were using to run diagnostics on her ship. It was nearly finished.

"Membrane," she began, walking over to you and placing a hand on your cheek. She gently raised your goggles and unzipped your lab coat just enough to see your face. Her purple eyes bore into yours. You felt like she could see into your soul with them. They were the same color as your children's hair, you noticed. "I am dying," she said bluntly after a few moments of silence.

You are taken aback by this. She seemed to be just fine. How could she say something like that? Out of nowhere? Where was this coming from?

"Don't look so shocked, Membrane," she told you with a sad smile. Her antennae drooped in a way that made your heart break. "I am two thousand and seventy six years old. Even by Tallest standards, that is several centuries longer than expected."

You were at a loss for words. You never knew her age- it just never seemed important. You finally found your words when she patted your cheek and lowered her hand. "How can you be so sure?" you asked.

"I can feel it," she explained. "The goo around my squeedly-spooch is beginning to dry. My PAK diagnostic systems say I have maybe a week left, if that."

It was so soon, so sudden, and in that moment you realize that somewhere along the line you had fallen in love with Miyuki. You couldn't lose her. She was the mother of your children. She was your partner. Your everything. "Miyuki-" you started, but she cut you off.

"Don't start, Membrane. There's nothing to be done." You couldn't believe it. You didn't know how she was able to be so casual about something so serious. "I need you to do me a favor," she told you.

"Anything, Miyuki," you replied honestly.  _You would give her the moon, and all she'd have to do is ask._

"Take off my PAK," she said. You knew that this would kill her. You knew that she would die in ten minutes without it. You couldn't. You couldn't be responsible for expediting her death.

"But, Miyu-"

"Shut up," she cut you off again. Her tone was harsh, but her face was sad. Resigned. "If my body dies with my PAK on, then it will shut down."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You felt so vulnerable without your goggles and your lab coat's high collar. Miyuki had seen you without one or the other a few times, though she had never seen you without both. No one had. Not even your children. "It holds your memories, your personality," you recalled aloud.

"Everything that makes me,  _me_ ," she finished for you. She looked away from you, no longer meeting your eyes. You reached over and grabbed her hand. She looked more fragile than you had ever seen her. She squeezed your gloved hand in what you assumed to be a reassuring gesture, and guided you to the back of the lab, near the gestation chamber Dib and Gaz were born in, which was once again collecting dust. "I'll walk you through the process," she said.

She turned around and braced herself on the counter. You approached, and gently laid a hand on her PAK. Her antennae perked up at this, and she turned her head to look back at you. "Normally I'd do this myself, but as soon as I turned my back it would reattach."

"How can we be sure it won't reattach anyway?" you asked, still incredibly hesitant about this whole process.

She shrugged. "In standard Irken PAKs, they'll attach to the nearest organic lifeform. But this is a Tallest PAK. It will only attach to something with my DNA. Just shove it in a cabinet real quick. No one comes into this part of the lab anyway." It was true. The few times the children had been downstairs for medical checkups, you always kept them from the back corner. You didn't want them to find out about their origins and think less of themselves as a result.

You lightly touched the metal on her back, knowing what you had to do. "Tell me where to begin."

You could feel her relax under your light touch, "There is a small door at the base of the PAK," she explained. "Slide it towards you, and you'll be able grip under the PAK itself."

You easily found the panel she was referring to, and it slid out of place without resistance. You wedged your gloved fingers between her PAK and body. "Miyuki," you started, "I just have one question..."

Her antennae twitched. "Yes Membrane?"

"If the PAK deactivates if you die while it's attached to your organic body," you hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Then how do you know it won't do just that anyway?"

She smiled softly. "Because I was still alive when it was removed, the PAK will simply enter a dormant state."

"Keeping you alive..." you realized.

"As alive as I can be," she corrected. "Now, Membrane, I need you to gently pull on the PAK. It will automatically disengage. Then, shove it in a cabinet and lock it before the failsafe engages and it begins to search for its host."

You nodded resolutely, though she could not see it as her attention was focused on the wall. You firmly pulled, and the neural receptors disengaged with a sickening pop. You would be far more disgusted had you not seen Miyuki remove and replace her own PAK hundreds of times for routine maintenance. She fell slightly, and used the counter to steady herself. Per her instructions, you shoved the PAK in a nearby cabinet, and engaged the electronic lock.

The deed done, you guided her to the center of the lab. The metal table you had laid her on when you first met had long since been replaced by an Irken lounge Miyuki had developed in her spare time. When she sat down on it, she pulled you down with her, and leaned on you for support. You had never had her so close for this long before, not even when you were sleeping.

"Membrane," she said, already sounding weak now that she no longer had her PAK to combat the dehydration of her organs.

"Yes, Miyuki?" you wanted to tell her to hush, don't speak. You wanted to whisper sweet nothings against her antennae. But you both knew you never could, as it was too out of character.

"Don't lie to the smeets about my death." Had it been directed at anyone else, it would have been an odd request. But Miyuki knew you. She knew that even if you didn't always show it, you loved your children very much, and would do anything to keep them from pain.

"Alright," you promised.

"And don't let them near my PAK," she said, as she reached up to lower your goggles from their position on top of your forehead. You forgot they were even up. She zipped your lab coat collar back up too. "They have enough of my DNA that it would attach to them. They would develop PAK dependency. That is not what I want."

You nodded once, firmly. The two of you sat in silence after that, Miyuki leaning on you. "You're very tall," she told you quietly after a few minutes. Her voice was weak. Your heart broke. "You would have many an Irken admirer had you not been human." You knew it was the closest Miyuki would ever get to confessing love. You did not cry. You ignored the fact that your goggles began to mist.

"Thank you, Membrane," she said when she had only about a minute left.

"Goodnight, Miyuki," you told her. Not wanting to admit to anyone, least of all yourself, that she would not awaken.

"Yes," she said, her normally smooth voice hoarse. "I suppose it wasn't the worst night I'd ever had." Moments later, she stopped. You had never felt more lost in all your life.


	2. When I don't Remember you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 8/25/14

You left Miyuki's body in the lab when you went upstairs. You had just fixed her ship. All that was left was to repair the navigations system. You could handle losing her to the vastness of space. You could not handle losing her to the passage of time.

"Where's Mom?" Dib asked, looking up from the blocks he was stacking.

"She will be gone for a while," you told him. It technically wasn't a lie. Her memories and data,  _her life_ , survived in her PAK. You hadn't lied to him. Miyuki didn't want you to lie to him or Gaz. But you couldn't tell him she was dead. You couldn't bring yourself to. You took your two children out to lunch. They thought it was a very special treat.

After the children were in bed that day, you went to the lab. Miyuki's body remained on the lounge, still and lifeless. You picked it up, much heavier than the first time you did so, and placed it in the newly repaired ship. You opened up a panel in the wall, punched in a few numbers, and watched as a tunnel opened into the outside.

You programed the launch code into her ship, and with little fanfare, sent it off into space. With the navigation system still broken, it would drift endlessly. Perhaps, it would end up back in the hands of her empire. You hoped so. It was the least you could do.

For the next several weeks Dib asked when Mom was coming home. Gaz would often repeat the question. You told them she wasn't. Gaz had nodded in understanding. Even as young as she was, she was always very self sufficient, if quiet. Dib had cried that night. Gaz called him a whiner. Dib did not cry after that.

You spent less and less time in the home lab. It was no longer just your lab, but yours and Miyuki's. It had been yours and Miyuki's lab for a very long time. It wouldn't go back to being just yours for even longer.

Dib entertained himself by watching TV and teaching himself about space. Without Miyuki to input the data authorization codes, he could no longer access the Irken database stored on his computer, and he chose instead to occupy his time researching information readily available on the internet.

You stored Gaz's Irken ship simulator in the back of the lab, and replaced it with state of the art video games. She didn't mind much, and you didn't want any lingering reminders of your deceased partner.

In the fall, Dib started his first day of kindergarten. With Miyuki gone, you decided it would be best if you enrolled Gaz in preschool as well.

You developed a hoverscreen with a video feed so you could keep watch over the children at home while still working in the company labs. You found you liked having your team of scientist rush around you- it made you forget how lonely you were.

When Dib is 6 and Gaz is 4, Dib has forgotten all about their mother. Gaz never mentions her. Sometimes, on the rare occasion you were home at night to tuck the children into bed, Dib asks you what she was like. You tell him that she was very smart, and very tall, before changing the subject.

Dib is 8. Gaz is 6. Dib insisted on dying his hair. You do not fight him on this. Gaz has settled in at the Elementary Skool, and you began routinely leaving the children home alone for weeks at a time. Dib and Gaz are mature for their age. ~~Their alien genetics make them more self sufficient.~~ You knew they wouldn't get into too much trouble while you're away at science symposiums across the country. You started your own TV series. It helps you forget.

Dib is 10. Gaz is 8. You kept your schedule so full you are hardly seen outside of the labs. You only saw your kids in person once every few months, if that. You knew they were ok. The automated systems took care of them. Made sure they were healthy. Your would use your hover screen to watch over them should something important come up, or if there was a meeting you needed to attend at their school. If anyone knew that they were subsisting on a diet primarily composed of junkfood and sugar they would probably call CPS. (They'd never call CPS on you for neglect though- you were too beloved, and you weren't  _endangering_  your children. If anything, you kept them safe, working away from home.)

All children eat a lot of junkfood, you told yourself. It's not uncommon for kids to be unable to stomach different kinds of ~~human~~ food. Most children prefer soda over water anyway, filtered or no. Trans fats aren't inherently  _bad_  for kids, you're sure you had done a study on it somewhere. (You hadn't. You told yourself that to make you forget. Forget why the amount of trans and saturated fats your children consumed was perfectly normal- necessary, even.)

Dib was obsessed with aliens and the paranormal. You always made sure to tell him that aliens weren't real, and he should focus more on REAL SCIENCE. Because aliens  _were_  not real, and  _would never be_  real. There was simply no such thing. Your poor, insane son. He was delusional, but you loved him. You could never figure out why his head was so big.

You remembered on his 10th birthday, he successfully reanimated the dead. When he told you, he was ecstatic, overjoyed even. "We can bring back mom!" he said to your hover screen. "Then Gaz and I could see what she was like! All we'd have to do is go to the cemetery-"

You cut him off with a, "Your mother was cremated, Son," the lie flowing so easily from your lips that you weren't sure if it was a lie at all. "And those corpses better be back in the ground and not moving by the time I get home," you chastised.

You didn't think he was serious- just another one of your insane son's fantasies, until you got home and actually saw the bodies. Rotting and grey, two cords sticking out of each of their backs in a way that was uncomfortably familiar. You scolded him for abusing REAL SCIENCE in such a frivolous manner, and he sulked, ushering his zombies back to wherever he dug them up from. You weren't sure what you were going to do with him.

Towards the end of fourth grade, Dib took to sitting out on the roof once a week, trying to pick up 'alien signals' on his laptop. You vaguely recalled his ~~in~~ human mother had built it for him shortly after he was ~~hatched~~ born, and you were surprised at how well it held up. You allowed him to camp out on the roof, if only because it kept him out of your hair for a little while and you could spend time with Gaz on the occasions you were home. And by 'spend time with' you meant, sit in the same room as her. Every sunday, without fail, your son sat outside just listening to the white noise of space. Every sunday. You soon made it a point to make sure your sundays were filled up with meetings and projects.

One Sunday, you had no such luck. Everyone was busy with one project or another, and you weren't needed at the lab. So you came home- you hadn't been home in a month anyway- and decided to preoccupy your time with one of your lighter projects upstairs. You didn't like to work in your basement lab- it was too crowded. Crowded with half finished projects you don't remember putting together ~~because you didn't put them together~~ and memories effectively smothered in a fog of denial thicker than your goggles.

Dib had only been on the roof for 10 minutes before he stormed downstairs, shouting "They're coming! The  _aliens_  are coming!"

You tuned him out. "Not now Son," all your focus was on your project. "I'm making TOAST!"

The summer months passed without much incident. Gaz spent her time playing the latest videogame you bought for her, meanwhile Dib spent his time wrapped up in his latest paranormal investigation project. He seemed to forget all about aliens until about two months into fifth grade, shortly after his eleventh birthday.

It was one of the few occasions you were home for dinner. There was a project that you  _had_  to work on in your private lab, because you hated bumbling interns messing things up when you were on the verge of a breakthrough more than you hated the fog that seeped into the corners of your mind every time you went down there. Dib swore up and down that a  _real live alien_  had entered his class, and that the other students were  _too stupid to realize it_. "That's nice, Son," you told him. Gaz rolled her eyes between her inhumanly thick lashes, too absorbed in her game to really care.

Parent teacher night rolled around soon after that. You attend from the company lab via hover screen, having thrown yourself into you work after Dib's 'alien' comment. You could deal with Dib chasing after Bigfeets, or chupacabras. You could handle his little obsession with the dead (though you would prefer he quit trying to bring them back to life- he never managed to do it after the initial time, the cables he installed in their backs too weak to sustain them for long, but it wasn't for lack of trying.) It was all just a phase, he'd grow out of it.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet, Dad," he told you, walking over to one of his little friends, the hoverscreen following all the way. "This is  _Zim_ ," he said, gesturing to a short little green child. "You know, the  _alien!"_

"And what country is the little green boy from?" you asked. The foreign child said something you couldn't be bothered to hear, before stalking off to do something else.

It was his skin that bothered you. That shade of green you had seen once before but couldn't remember where. ~~Wouldn't remember where~~. You noticed he carried a little ladybug-esq backpack that seemed vaguely familiar. You recalled something similar was sketched on a blue print in the part of the lab you never,  _never_  entered. You quickly ignored the events of the rest of the parent/teacher night in favor of tending to the volatile chemicals you were working with.

You saw less and less of Dib after that, and even though that Zim character rubbed you the wrong way, you were glad Dib had at least one friend. Zim was so  _short,_ though. You don't know why that bothered you. In the back of your mind, you vaguely recall height being very important to the mother of your children. ~~Not your wife, _never_  your wife, or partner, or love.~~

You still hated working in your private labs, but every now and then it just had to be done. Once, Dib clambered downstairs to ask to borrow the microscopic ship you had developed, ~~_she_  had developed~~. You passed it to him without a second thought.

Later that evening, Dib had asked you what an "arm control nerve" was.

"It's the nerve that controls your arms, Son," you told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Everybody has one." It was a blatant lie, a lie,  _lie, LIE,_ but Dib simply shrugged and moved on. You let the fog creep in and forgot he had ever even asked.

Some nights, when you slept in your own bed instead of on the couch in your office, you felt a lonliness. A longing. For what, you weren't sure. You were never interested in sex, too wrapped up in SCIENCE to care, but some nights you felt like there should be cool metal within arms reach of you, gentle hands with soft skin the color of Dib's foreign friend, and the quiet whirring of a body recharging. Nights like that were one of the few times you allowed yourself to clearly remember the mother of your children, who had eyes that shined the color of your children's natural hair, framed with Gaz's lashes, and Dib's ever developing spindly proportions reflected in her own body. Somehow you knew without thinking that your son would never square out as you had, and with each passing year he would continue to be a willowy, if large headed, young boy.

You know that you and the mother of your children had spent a little over five years together. At this point in your life, she had been dead for nearly seven. Every once in a while, you allowed yourself the luxury of mourning her. You would climb out onto the roof, the roof where you son spent so much of his time, while your children slept, and look at the stars. This was the  _only_  time you let yourself remember more than just what she looked like. The  _only_  time you let the fog truly clear. The  _only_  time she was just Miyuki, and not  _the mother of your children._

You wondered if you meant as much to her as she did to you. Were you just a tiny blip on the radar of her long life? Hardly worth noticing? You wondered, had she lived long enough for you to work out the bugs in her ship's navigation (her  _space ship's navigation_ that she flew through  _space with_  because she was an  _alien-_  not from another country, but from  _another planet_ ) if she would have left you.

You liked to think she cared about Dib, and Gaz, but perhaps they, too, were just another way to occupy her time while she was stranded. You feel your goggles fog up and your lab coat is too suffocating. You shed both of them. You wondered if you would ever allow your children to see you like this. You probably wouldn't.

You remembered, once or twice, while you both were working in the lab she had turned to look up at you, smiled coyly and said, "You are very tall," before returning to her current project. When you started working at the company labs, the staff learned very quickly not to comment on your height if they wanted to keep their jobs.

When you eventually replaced your lab coat and goggles, and clambered down from the roof, Miyuki was gone again, and aliens were not real. There was only the nondescript human mother of your equally human children.

Dib eventually started spending more time in the garage, working on what he referred to as his 'pet project.'

"It's nothing big," he'd say when your view screen floated in to check on him and Gaz. "Just a little machine. No dead involved, this time." You were pleased at that.

Curiosity got the better of you, one night. Normally there was no force on earth that could get Dib to stop talking about whatever his current project was, but he'd only mentioned the thing in the garage once or twice. So while the children slept, thinking once again that you weren't home, you entered the garage.

Inside sat something you never thought you'd see again. It wasn't the same as Miyu-  _themotherofyourchildren's_ , but it was the same color. The same insignia emblazoned on the side. You slammed the garage door shut and stomped off into the kitchen to begin engineering a super coffee to accompany your super toast, because it was all you could do to not break then and there. You were  _better_  than that, you were a  _scientist,_  you were  _above_  grief.

That night, you dreamed of Miyuki, perched on a counter in the lab you shared, waxing lyrical about the glorious Empire she once ruled, and how  _lucky_  the children were to have superior Irken DNA, and the genes of one so tall as you. It was the closest she would ever come to gloating.

When you woke up the next morning, you determined that you had far too much free time, and ordered your assistant to book your schedule clear into next year. Not that it wasn't already crowded, but filling it up even more would give you more time to forget. It was like Dib's little friend was causing the blocks on your memory to waver, even though you hardly saw him around.

You didn't need to see him, to know he was there, an ever present figure in your son's life. He was all Dib talked about most evenings. It was hard to tell when his voice was distorted through the crackle of the view-screen, but his speech and tone often indicated a begrudging admiration. You wondered where you could have gone wrong, for your son to be  _infatuated_  as he was with someone so short. And he was infatuated, even if he himself couldn't see it. People didn't usually spend  _that_  much time obsessing over someone just because they were from another ~~planet~~ country. When you thought of- what was his name? Gim? Zib? Zim- Zim's height, you couldn't help but think that he could do better. It bothered you that something so trivial as  _height_  was the deal breaking fault you found in Dib's little crush, but the mother of your children valued it so much, it was no surprise that such ideals rubbed off on you.

Three years after your last Family Outing at Bloaty's, you had enough room in your schedule for another. At 14, Dib had shot up like a weed, though he was still a good 8 inches shorter than where you stood at 6 foot 2. Gaz only barely hit five feet, and you hoped she would gain a few more inches during puberty. The fair was in town, and Dib decided to go there, where he and Gaz gorged on fried foods and funnel cakes. They both especially loved the fried cookies, and butter, and you were glad to see them happy.

Nothing truly eventful happened until the evening of Dib's 16th birthday, two years later. You and Gaz were in the living room, waiting for him to emerge from upstairs so you all could cut into the cake you had manufactured in the lab. It was full of transfats and sugars and oils, and you knew that they both would love it.

Dib didn't come bounding down the stairs like you had expected him to. Insead, he trudged, sad and dejected. You couldn't think of a reason why. Had he finally confessed to the foreign boy from grade school and been rejected? You hoped not- you had a betting pool going on at the lab that it would be the foreign boy who confessed first. He sat next to you on the couch.

"Happy birthday, Son," you said, using a laser pen to light the single candle in the middle of the cake.

He smiled sadly; it was a smile you were familiar with, though you weren't used to seeing it on  _his_  face. He blew out the single candle, and then turned to you. "Hey Dad?" he began.

"Yes, Son?"

He seemed hesitant to continue. Gaz just watched from her perch in her chair, ever the observant one. "Can I ask you something?"

You ignored the fact that in asking to ask a question, he had in fact asked a question. "Go ahead, son." It was his birthday, after all. It was the least you could do.

"What was Mom's name?"

Your heart stopped for a moment. Of all the questions Dib could ask, that was not the one you were anticipating. You knew it would only raise suspicion to avoid the question, so you answered resolutely, strongly, though with a tender undertone that only Miyuki herself would have been able to detect. "Miyuki. Her name was Miyuki."

Dib nodded once, and the three of you cut into the cake. It tasted horrible to you, but Dib seemed to perk up after that. He began arguing with Gaz over the practical use of spell drives in a military setting, and you tuned them both out.

After a while, you stood up and announced that you were going to bed. Your children both bidded you goodnight, and you climbed the stairs and slipped into the master bedroom.

When you laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you realized that was the first time you said Miyuki's name out loud since she died. You resolved to say it more often, if only in private, enjoying the feel of her name on your tongue.

The next time you went home after a long day at the lab, Dib was sitting on the couch, mulling over a job application. "Hey, Dad?" he said when he noticed you walk in the room.

You paused. He tapped his pen against his chin the way his mother once had when she was puzzling over one experiment or another. "Yes Son?"

"What's my last name?" You were genuinely surprised he hadn't asked this sooner. Did he not notice both he and Gaz had no last name on file at school?

"Why, Membrane, of course!" you cheerily informed him.

He looked at you confused, his hair  _twitching_  in a way that yours never had. "But isn't that your first name?"

"Yes, Son. Yes it is." He shrugged and wrote it down on the application, and you continued on your way to the labs.

Dib was correct. Membrane was  _your_  first name, though it hadn't become the children's last name until they were 13 and 15. When you realized that both of them would eventually be applying for jobs and drivers tests, you hurried down to the public records office, and paid someone off to add a last name to a hastily cobbled together birth certificate. You didn't  _need_  such documents to enroll your children in school,  _especially_  because you were so beloved by the town. The DMV, on the other hand, definitely  _would_ require at least  _some_ documentation, and you didn't want to be caught off guard.

Down in the lab, you let your brain drift to  _why_  the children didn't have last names until very recently (and why they would never know that their last names were newly given). Irkens didn't  _have_  last names, it just wasn't  _done_. Miyuki had insisted that while the first names were your choice, she wouldn't stand for her smeets to be tainted by such a human custom. You never told her  _your_  last name, and out of respect for her you didn't give it to the kids. You gave them your first name. That way, it wouldn't truly  _be_  a last name, at least, not in Irken eyes. Merely a signature of who created them. (At the records office, you had also hastily placed Miyuki's name where the children's middle name would have gone. Your Irken penmanship was clumsy, but the county clerk assumed there was some grand scientific reason behind the gibberish symbols. He had carefully copied the Irken letter M where the children's middle initial should go for use on official documents. You hoped you wouldn't be the one explaining that to Dib or Gaz once either of them got around to earning their learner's permit.)

Irk sure was a strange country, you mused to yourself, trying to snap yourself out of your somber mood. It was a strange country with strange earthly customs and it was a country on earth and if you kept repeating it often enough maybe it would become true. You wished Dib wasn't so  _obsessed_  with destroying aliens, because then it would be easier for you to continue living in vicious denial.

Miyuki was  _human,_  Dib and Gaz were  _equally human_  and that was all they could  _ever be_  because if they weren't, then that meant they were missing half of who they were. And what kind of father would you be if you took that away from them? Because you did take it away from them. And you couldn't bare to be reminded of that. You had no choice but to deny and forget, and you would continue to do so until you too had taken your last breath.


End file.
